


Deception

by BazinMousqueton



Series: The Body and the Battle [10]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Sex, Athos says "Shush!", Episode Related, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Loud Sex, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Quiet Sex, Spoilers through to 1x09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8343919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BazinMousqueton/pseuds/BazinMousqueton
Summary: In which Porthos knows Aramis is keeping secrets, Athos is tempted (but not tempted enough), and Aramis chooses to say it with daggers.Or: Aramis and Porthos make love quietly in the forest and loudly in Paris, and Aramis keeps his feelings to himself.The fics in this series are chronological but standalone -- there's no need to read the earlier ones to enjoy this.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anathema Device (notowned)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/gifts).



> Set during and after 1x09 (Knight Takes Queen).

The campfire crackled. Aramis rolled onto his back and gazed up at the stars. The air was fresh, pine-scented from the cones they'd thrown on the fire. Aramis had found a hollow of moss in which to lay out his bedroll; in that moment it felt more luxurious than a feather bed. They really were in paradise.

Or they would be. If only--

D'Artagnan snored loudly.

"Finally," Porthos whispered, pushing himself to his feet. "I thought he'd never drop off."

Aramis smiled, relieved. He'd worried Porthos wouldn't want him. They hadn't been comfortable together since Porthos's affair with the widow. _Alice._ Aramis hated thinking her name. It reminded him of everything he couldn't tell Porthos. 

_Everything?_

Just the one thing, really. 

And yet: 

Everything.

Aramis got up quietly, careful not to disturb d'Artagnan. They padded away from the fire, both in shirts, breeches and boots. Aramis had his blue sash wrapped around his waist.

"Where do you two think you're going?" Athos said, softly, when they reached the edge of the clearing. 

"To admire the beauty and serenity of the forest after dark," Aramis said, earning a dig in the ribs from Porthos. 

"Listen," Athos said. 

Aramis froze. An owl hooted in the distance. A breeze rustled through the leaves. Something small splashed into the lake below. 

"I don't hear anything," Porthos said.

"My point exactly," Athos said. "Any noise you make will carry miles."

"Carry to whom?" Aramis asked. "We're in the middle of nowhere."

"You'll wake d'Artagnan--"

Aramis grinned. "It's about time he noticed, don't you think? All that wide-eyed obliviousness was acceptable in a protégé, but he's far too innocent for a Musketeer. Even an apprentice Musketeer."

Athos ignored him and continued: "--and the Queen."

"Hm," Porthos said. "Fair point." He looked at Aramis. "I'm not sure how I'll keep Aramis quiet, though."

"Gag him if you have to," Athos said. His voice was the tiniest smidgen more intense than his usual deadpan; only someone who knew him well would register the difference. 

Aramis and Porthos knew him very well indeed. They shared a knowing glance. 

"Shame you're not wearing your scarf," Porthos said. 

"Use Aramis's sash," Athos said, a touch too quickly; a touch too breathy. 

Porthos chuckled. "You've been thinking about that."

Athos gave them the slight twitch of his lips that was the equivalent of any other man's full-blown grin. 

Aramis's blood rushed to his cock. "Join us," he said. It had been a while since Athos had last turned him down. And, maybe...

Athos shook his head. "Someone needs to stay on watch." 

Aramis shrugged, took Porthos's hand and crept into the woods. Porthos snapped a stick underfoot. 

"Shush!" Athos hissed after them. 

They walked without speaking, concentrating on picking their way through the dim moonlight, until they reached a circular glade Aramis had reconnoitred earlier. He drew Porthos into his arms.

"Silence," Porthos said, his voice low. "That'll be different."

He bent to kiss Aramis. Aramis closed his eyes and moved into the kiss, his lips hungry on Porthos's. He couldn't stop himself moaning quietly when their tongues met.

Porthos pulled away. "Don't make me gag you."

"You don't have to use my sash," Aramis said, hands on Porthos's waistband. Porthos sucked in a ragged breath. Aramis lowered himself to his knees and began unbuttoning Porthos's breeches. 

Porthos reached down to stop Aramis. "It'll be me needs gagging if you do that."

Aramis conceded the point with a tilt of his head. Porthos did tend to vocalise his appreciation when Aramis sucked him off. 

"Join me down here," Aramis said, cupping his groin lewdly. "I've got the perfect gag."

Porthos dropped to the ground. He pushed Aramis onto his back and kissed him hurriedly, fumbling first with his own breeches and linens, then Aramis's. Aramis's cock, hardening fast, sprang free. Porthos held himself on all fours above Aramis. A rock dug into Aramis's shoulder blade. He shuffled sideways. Porthos raised an eyebrow. 

"I'm fine," Aramis said, ignoring the tree root running under the small of his back. He thought, wistfully, about his mossy bower by the campfire.

Porthos shifted to face the other way: his head over Aramis's cock, his cock above Aramis's face. The angle was all wrong. Aramis leant his head back--

\--and gasped as he hit another rock.

He wriggled sideways. Porthos adjusted and lowered his head, wrapping his lips around Aramis's cock. Aramis bit his lip to stop himself crying out. He grabbed Porthos's ass and tugged him down. Aramis opened his mouth wide to take Porthos's cock. They moved together for two blissful strokes: Porthos's tongue swirling up Aramis's length; Aramis's mouth filled with Porthos. Aramis sucked and ran his hands down Porthos's thighs--

\--and winced when his elbow bashed into a stone. 

He nearly clamped his teeth shut. He released Porthos's cock and twisted away.

"What's up?" Porthos asked.

"I was this close--" he held up thumb and forefinger, barely separated, "--to biting off your cock." He dragged himself upright. "This is not working for me."

Porthos pulled him close. "Castration wouldn't work for me either. Let's try something else." He sat down against the bole of a tree, pulling Aramis with him and into a tender kiss. Aramis squirmed until he was sitting between Porthos's legs and relaxed into the kiss. Porthos wove his fingers through Aramis's hair and held his head steady. Tingles ran through Aramis's body. He'd been kissing Porthos for more years than he cared to remember, yet every time thrilled him.

_Is this how love feels?_

Aramis tamped down the thought. He'd promised himself he wouldn't share his feelings with Porthos. Their relationship wasn't about that sort of love. They were lovers and brothers; falling in love wasn't part of the deal. 

Porthos trailed kisses along Aramis's jaw and down his neck. He turned Aramis, manhandling him until they both faced the same way; Aramis's back pressed into Porthos's front, Porthos's arms holding Aramis tight. 

"What about this?" Porthos asked. He took his own cock in his left hand, Aramis's in his right, and leant forwards to capture Aramis's lips in another deep kiss. 

Aramis turned his head into the kiss and murmured assent into Porthos's mouth.

Porthos set a leisurely tempo, his tongue and hands working together in long, slow strokes. Aramis shivered, his focus split between the sensations on his cock and on his tongue. He traced meandering patterns up Porthos's arms. Porthos hummed, the sound muted by Aramis's mouth. A flush spread across Aramis's face. He moaned, the sound muffled by Porthos's mouth. He arched his back. 

Porthos didn't speed up. 

Aramis writhed, light-headed. Pleasure spread from his cock and swept through his body. He clamped his lips against Porthos's. Porthos tensed. Aramis shuddered. Porthos came first, sighing into the kiss, his spend warm and wet against Aramis's back. Aramis whimpered and followed, his cock throbbing in Porthos's grasp. He fell back against Porthos, boneless. Porthos gathered him into a hug. Their breath mingled, swift and rasping. Aramis's heart thumped. He leant into Porthos, secure in the only home he wanted. 

Unspoken words strained on his tongue. 

They stole back to the campsite before Athos's watch had ended. Porthos stopped Aramis before they stepped back into view.

"There's something you're keeping from me," he said, cupping Aramis's jaw and staring into his eyes. "Isn't there?"

_Something? Everything._

Aramis smoothed Porthos's furrowed forehead with his thumb. 

_I love you._

"Just following orders," he said. "Shush, my friend. Shush."

# # # 

Paris, after the siege at the convent, was crowded, stinking and noisy. Aramis relaxed into it as if the city were a warm bath; it soothed his aching muscles and refreshed his spirits.

"You're both keeping something from me," Porthos said, glaring at Aramis and Athos. He'd been giving them suspicious looks since rescuing them from the convent cellar.

Athos, muttering excuses, raised his hat to Aramis and fled. 

"Did you and he...?" Porthos asked. "Because he's behaving like a man with morning-after regrets."

Aramis laughed. It sounded brittle. Porthos gave him a sharp glance. Porthos had always been far too sharp. Aramis didn't rate his chances of keeping his night with the Queen hidden from Porthos. 

Still, he had to try. The knowledge would endanger Porthos.

"No, we didn't," Aramis said. "Lots of flirtatious battle-banter, but no actual action. Still, I think he's coming round to the idea. Thanks to my kiss."

" _Your_ kiss?" Porthos said. "Don't forget who he kissed first. I'm definitely closer to seducing him."

Aramis smiled to himself. _Interrogation successfully deflected._

"Not a chance," he said. "He's mine."

Porthos scoffed. They passed the Bastille and headed into the artisans' quarter in Faubourg Saint-Antoine.

"This way," Aramis said, turning into a side-street. Sawdust and varnish from the cabinetmakers' shops sweetened the breeze. Three horseshoes hung from a wrought-iron bracket above an open door. Aramis entered. A wall of heat and noise hit him. Porthos, close behind, halted abruptly. Pierre, the blacksmith, looked up.

"Aramis," he said, smiling broadly and putting his hammer down. The iron rod on his anvil glowed red hot. He had a soot smut on his nose; his jacket, the same red as the iron, clung to his powerful arms and shoulders. His auburn beard curled wildly. Aramis's fingers itched to smooth it.

"Is it ready?" Aramis asked.

Pierre heaved his work in progress into the fire. Sparks erupted. He swept his hair out of his eyes, creating another black smudge, and loped to the back of his forge. An array of weapons hung on the wall. Pierre lifted a parrying dagger and presented it to Aramis. Its blade was straight and double-edged; its quillons long; its hilt wrapped in chain. A serious weapon: handsome and strong. Aramis weighed its balance, examined its temper, and tried the point. Blood beaded on his finger tip.

Porthos whistled his appreciation. Aramis gave Pierre a nod of approval and handed Porthos the dagger.

"For you," he said. 

Porthos, unused to receiving gifts, stared at the dagger in wonder, holding himself still. "Why?"

Aramis shrugged. "A man can never have too many daggers." He looked at Pierre. "And the room?"

"All yours," Pierre said, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. He had a lovely smile, Pierre; Aramis had first spotted it across a crowded tavern, six months or so earlier...

Pierre returned to his work, his hammer deafening. Aramis brought his attention back to Porthos, who hadn't stopped scrutinising his new dagger. 

"Follow me," Aramis said. 

Porthos caressed the dagger and slipped it into his belt, his gaze on Aramis. Aramis led the way through the forge, up the stairs at the back, and into the room directly above Pierre. It contained a bed, a chest, and a table. A bottle of wine and two pewter tankards stood on the table, rattling in time with the cacophony from downstairs, alongside a bowl of quenching oil. The surface of the oil rippled with the hammer's rhythm. 

Aramis closed and barred the door. Porthos nodded approvingly as he took in their surroundings. 

"We can make as much--" 

A crash drowned out Porthos's words. He repeated them, full volume.

"--as much noise as we like."

Aramis sauntered into Porthos's personal space and tiptoed to speak into his ear. "Indeed we can. Conversation might be a little tricky, though."

_And the things I can't say will remain safely unsaid. Or, at least, unheard._

Porthos swooped, lifted Aramis, and swung him around, roaring in sheer joy. He threw Aramis onto the bed and got to work on his buckles and buttons, his fingers greedy. Aramis laughed and helped, tearing clothes off the moment Porthos had them unfastened. Porthos ran his hands across Aramis's naked skin. Aramis curved into the touch, his nerve-endings on fire. He moaned as Porthos's thumbs circled his nipples, and moaned louder when Porthos moved away.

Porthos stood. He took out his new dagger and placed it carefully on the table before unbuckling his weapons belts and letting them fall to the floor. Their clatter disappeared in the clamour.

Porthos slowly unbuttoned his doublet. Aramis propped himself on his right elbow, licked his left palm, tasting smoke and iron, and wrapped his hand around his cock. He touched himself gently as Porthos stripped. His cock twitched as Porthos pulled his shirt over his head, revealing delectable dark skin and perfectly-defined muscles under a sheen of sweat. Porthos kicked off his boots and moved to his breeches buttons. 

Aramis's pulse raced. He moaned Porthos's name. He couldn't watch any longer. He flung himself to the floor, slid to Porthos's feet, and yanked Porthos's breeches and linens down. Porthos stepped out of them, ripped his stockings off, and reached for the bowl of oil. Aramis bent to kiss Porthos's foot and licked a path up his leg. He stood, took the bowl from Porthos, and pushed Porthos onto the bed, on his back. The headboard bumped against the wall, seemingly soundlessly. Porthos held out his arms for Aramis.

Aramis dipped his fingers in the bowl. He slicked his cock before kneeling on the bed, between Porthos's legs. Porthos gripped Aramis's waist. Aramis coated his hands with oil again, carefully placed the bowl under the bed, and bent to run a single finger down from Porthos's balls into the crease of his buttocks. 

Porthos gasped as Aramis's finger brushed over his opening. 

Aramis pressed. Porthos moaned. Aramis's finger slid inside. Porthos tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Aramis read his own name on Porthos's lips. 

"Porthos, my love," Aramis said, knowing his friend couldn't hear. He pressed his finger further in. Porthos spread his legs. Aramis would never get used to how beautiful Porthos looked like this: abandoned to sensation; his breath coming in fast pants; his body bending into Aramis's touch.

Aramis added a second finger. Porthos moaned loudly enough for Aramis to hear him. He was hot, and tight, and slippery with oil. Aramis thrust hard and curled his fingers. Porthos clutched at Aramis, shouting. Aramis soothed him with his right hand, skimming Porthos's nipples, and thrust steadily with his left. Porthos screwed his eyes shut.

The third finger slipped in easily. Aramis's cock throbbed. His heartbeat accelerated. He lined himself up, pulled his fingers out, and drove his cock in. Porthos opened his eyes wide. Aramis, lost in the overwhelming feeling of being inside Porthos, yelled. Sweat ran down his back.

The drum of hammer on anvil gave Aramis his measure. He matched his thrusts to Pierre's strikes. Porthos moved with him. Aramis wrapped his right hand around Porthos's cock. They kissed, biting and moaning. Pleasure flowed through Aramis. He shouted Porthos's name as his orgasm hit. Porthos cried out, clenched around Aramis, and came. 

Aramis collapsed on top of Porthos, gasping for breath, Porthos's release smearing across both of their stomachs. Porthos chuckled and cuddled Aramis. Aramis felt his love for Porthos swell; it filled his mouth and pressed against his teeth, demanding to be spoken.

A clang from below stopped him.

He gave Pierre silent thanks and wrapped Porthos in a wordless embrace.

_My secrets are still my own._

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired in part by the lovely [I am an anathema device's gif](https://iamanathemadevice.tumblr.com/post/151143333914/athos-says-shush):


End file.
